Don't Act Like You Care
by cclarasdoctor
Summary: Clara's sick after yet another long, frustrating week at Coal Hill, and the Doctor does a horrible job of living up to his chosen name.


**A/N: Disappointed by the lack of 12/Clara sick!fics, I did one myself. Needed something to do while I try to overcome a serious case of writer's block :) Enjoy!**

_Don't Act Like You Care_

Clara took a few ambling steps into her flat, returning from a long, frustrating day at Coal Hill High School. She flung her purse onto the sofa, peeled off her high heels, and removed her earrings all on her journey to her bedroom.

She flopped down onto her cushioned mattress with a sigh, immediately closing her eyes. Her whole body shook with a coughing fit, leaving her shuddering and uncomfortable upon completion. Ignoring the awkwardness of her tight dress, she curled up into a ball, wrapping her arms around herself.

She'd felt awful the entire day, but managed to play it off. Partially because she'd been running on pure adrenaline, numbing the feeling a bit. The life of a high school English teacher could be quite stressful. But towards the end of the day, the nagging headache had started, and chills had begun to wrack her body. She just felt like curling up and dying right about then.

But still, she settled for getting up and changing her clothes, knowing she'd be much more comfortable. She swung her legs out of bed with a reluctant groan, just beginning to unzip the back of her dress when the her door burst open.

"Clara! I need you. Let's go." The Doctor stormed in, said those few words, then walk out again. When he noticed Clara's lack of following, he walked back in. "Ahem."

"Hey, there's this new thing. It's called knocking." She rolled her eyes. "Go away, Doctor."

"Shut up. Listen." He walked up to her, not even bothering to pay any attention to her worn out features. Now only inches away, he raised his hands in emphasis as he began to describe what he'd discovered. "I found this thing, it's like a _giant _waterfall, except instead of water, its pure silver. The question is, where's is coming from? No local mines, silversmiths, nothing. Nothing above, beneath, or around. Its just _there."_

"Sorry, Doctor." Clara mumbled, her voice as unapologetic as it could get. "But you've gotta go without me today."

"Why's that? Another date with this mystery guy, hmm?" He prompted.

Clara sighed and laid back down on her bed, wrapping the thick duvet around herself and burying her face in her pillow. "I feel awful." She said in a muffled tone. "I'll be fine in a couple days. Just come back then."

"I can imagine you feel awful! Having to spend the day with so many rotten kids -"

Clara raised her head and shot him a look.

"What do you mean by awful?"

"'M just a bit sick. Come back in a few days." She growled, laying her head back down again.

The Doctor frowned. "But I need you _today_!"

"Sorry." She said quietly, rolling over onto her back as she tried to get into a more comfortable position. She let out an involuntary cough, squeezing her eyes shut in discomfort. She heard nothing for several moments, and assumed with a grateful sigh that the Doctor had departed.

But when she felt the large, _freezing _hand resting on her forehead, her suspicions faltered.

"Damn. You _are_ sick." The Doctor mused, his voice giving way to more frustration than concern.

Clara cracked her eyes open, batting his hand away with annoyance. "Go solve your gold mystery. Come back for me later."

"It's silver." He protested. The Doctor lowered his hand to the side, but his face held an unusually slightly concerned expression. Next thing Clara knew, she was being seized by the wrist and hauled into a standing position.

"What the hell are you doing?" She questioned, swaying a bit as she tried to regain her footing.

"Got to get you checked out. Despite the sass, annoying questions, and lack of fashion sense, you come in handy sometimes. Wouldn't want you to drop dead on my watch."

Clara placed a hand on her heart and fluttered her eyelids sarcastically. "Your concern is _touching._"

He ignored her, leading her roughly through the double doors of the TARDIS. "Go to the infirmary."

She yawned. "Dunno where it is."

The Doctor scanned her head and chest with his sonic screwdriver, then turned to the console and stuck the device in a small hole. "Then find it! I'll meet you there."

Clara groaned dramatically, but knew better than to put up a fight. She sulked down the corridor with shuffling footsteps. She made a quick stop in her TARDIS bedroom, grabbing a comfortable pair of sleeping clothes. Clara walked back into the hallway, ambling about for a bit until her eyes came to rest on the infirmary door. She walked in, briefly blinded by the harsh light that bounced off the white walls. She closed the door behind her, taking mere seconds to get dressed into the sleepwear, then curled up onto the uncomfortable white bed, draping the thin blanket over her shoulders. She squeezed her eyes shut, held her head in one hand, and willed her immune system to kick into full gear.

The Doctor burst into the room minutes later, the banging of the door causing Clara to wince. She didn't open her eyes, nor show any sign of acknowledging his presence, as she heard him begin to rummage through various things.

"Good news. You're not dying." He shouted with almost reluctant triumph. Clara heard his footsteps slowly growing closer, and she dreaded what he might do upon reaching her.

When the Doctor took in her curled up form, head buried in her pillow, blanket nearly hiding her completely, he frowned in annoyance. "Turn over."

"No." She protested.

"Clara, turn over!"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Cos I'm tired."

"You can sleep after I take a look at you."

"You just said I'm not dying."

"But I still need to make sure you didn't pick up some kind of alien ailment while we were about!"

"Don't act like you care." The Doctor could almost hear the scowl in her voice.

"What?" His thick eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Can I go to my bedroom?" Clara flipped onto her back on her own accord, staring up at the Doctor with tired, bloodshot eyes.

"But I-"

"-Doctor, its just a cold."

"Just a cold? Clara." He felt her forehead again, and this time she didn't resist. Just enjoyed the brief feeling of his cool palm against her flushed skin. "You're unexceptionably hot."

"Down, boy." A tired smirk appeared on her face.

"Shut up." The Doctor frowned, suddenly becoming slightly optimistic.

It didn't matter, though, as Clara was beginning to haul herself out of bed.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Going to my room. This mattress is like sleepin' on a block of wood." She stood up on shaky legs, ambling towards the door, the thin blanket still wrapped tightly around her. "G'night, Doctor."

He watched her go, making to attempt to stop her. "Don't go blaming me if you turn into a beetle in the middle of the night!" He shouted, trying to scare a bit of sense into her, but if she even heard him, she just ignored him.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Clara awoke to a painful coughing fit wracking her entire body. With a groan of frustration, she practically rolled out of bed, flinching as her bare feet touched the cold floor. She wiped a hand across her forehead, wincing as it came back drenched in sweat. Despite how freezing she was on the outside, she knew how hot she truly must but on the inside.<p>

She sighed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and stood up. Immediately shivering after exiting the warmth of her covers, she grabbed the heavy duvet off the top of the bed, wrapping it tightly around herself. She assumed she looked like a human burrito...a dead human burrito at that, but didn't really care.

Clara shuffled out of the door, and ambled down the corridor until she arrived in the console room. The Doctor was on the second level, writing various things on his blackboard distractedly. Not bothering to bid him good morning, she stumbled over to the jump seat to the side of the console, and curled up into a comfortable ball. She snuggled deep into her duvet, eyes drooping closed, thinking she may actually get another wink of sleep when an abrupt coughing fit gave away her presence.

"You're covering your mouth, aren't you?" The Doctor called, eyes never wavering from his work.

Clara didn't reply, just stared at his back with her mouth agape in annoyance.

"I'll take that as a yes." He threw the chalk to the side, coat flapping about as he made his way down the long, silver ramp. When his gaze finally came to rest on Clara, he physically flinched, looking as if he'd seen a ghost...no...50 ghosts. "Blimey. You look like death."

"You may be called the Doctor, but you're bedside manner sucks." She responded hoarsely, turning away from him with a sigh, and laying her weary head down on the second seat beside her.

"Feeling any better?" He asked almost hesitantly, walking up to press his palm against her forehead, only to jerk back immediately upon doing so.

"That answer your question?" Clara broke into another fit of painful coughs, clutching her chest until it was over. Exhausted by the brief physical outburst, she closed her eyes again, wanting nothing more than to just curl up and sleep the ailment away.

"Oi." The Doctor slapped her cheek.

"Hey!" She protested, hand flying to the attack site dramatically. It didn't hurt, but it pissed her off.

"No falling asleep." He commanded.

"But I'm tired." She protested.

"Don't care. Stay awake."

"Again, with the bedside manner." Clara groaned a little in pain as she sat up, hauling herself slowly to her feet on shaky legs. Not letting the duvet drop from where it was draped over her shoulders, she made a shuffling attempt for the front doors.

"And where do you think you're going?" The Doctor asked, but didn't stop her.

"You're no help at all. I'm going home to where I can suffer in peace." But as soon as she opened the doors, her face fell so far down she thought it may fall off. Beyond the TARDIS was not her bedroom, but staring in front of her was the depths of space. "Really?"

"Can't risk you sneaking off!" The Doctor smiled with a mock-sinister expression.

"Oh, so now you're kidnappin' me." Clara demanded.

"If you like!" He was at her side in a few quick steps, putting an arm around her shoulders. Clara took it to be a sign of comfort, but that didn't last long as he began forcing her towards the corridor. "Out you go. Shoo! Go to bed."

"But I just got _out _of bed!" She whined.

"Do you expect to get any better just sitting here bothering me all day? No? Neither did I. Now shoo." And with that, he went back to his blackboard.

Clara sighed, obeying without protesting any further. A sad look flickered in her eyes. It was times like this that she realised how different this Doctor was from the previous. Not only were they more distant than they were, but he just didn't seem to care about her...at least not like he used to. Here she was, sick and miserable, and the Doctor, her best friend, just telling her to go to bed and quit being a bother.

Of course, on the other hand, it didn't surprise her. She'd seen how different the Doctor had been lately, so these things didn't come as a surprise anymore.

But it didn't mean it didn't still hurt.

* * *

><p>Clara lay curled up in her bed, coughing and shivering miserably. She buried herself as deep into the covers as she possibly could, but just couldn't seem to find warmth. She sneezed violently into her sleeve, squeezing her eyes shut in hopes of her becoming slightly less miserable.<p>

She didn't know how long she'd been laying there, but she knew she hadn't gotten much sleep. Ever since the Doctor had sent her off to bed, she been as uncomfortable as ever. Taking turns between cold and hot, putting up with painful coughing fits, and trying to ease the headache that was forever nagging.

Clara nearly fell completely still when she heard movement at her doorway. Her fevered brain assuming the worst - because there was no possibility it was simply the Doctor coming to check on her - she pulled the covers a little further over her head, trying to shield herself from whatever was lurking about.

But the sensible part of her brain finally caught on.

Clara felt the weight of her mattress shift a bit to one side, indicating that the Doctor was seated beside her on the bed. She didn't know why he was here, but didn't have the energy to care. But when she felt her hand being lifted up, and cold fingers being rested on her wrist, she cracked her eyes open to stare up at him.

"What're you doing?" She demanded weakly.

"Checking your expiration date." He replied with an attitude, dropping her hand back down after a few seconds.

"Whatever." Clara closed her eyes again and rolled over so that she was facing away from him.

"Clara?"

"Whaaat?" She whined.

"Feeling any better?"

At that moment, as if to prove a point, she involuntarily broke into a painful bout of coughs. She rolled over tiredly to face him, staring into his eyes wearily. Her bloodshot stare was the only answer he was receiving.

"Can I..." He hesitated, scratching the side of his face. "Er, can I get you anything?"

Clara huffed, relaxing as she rolled onto her back. "Don't act like you care."

"You said that before." The Doctor began. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I said. Don't act like you care."

"But...I do care." His words were almost reluctant.

"Well you certainly don't care as much as..." She broke off.

"Who? My other self?" The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Clara, is that what this is about? Are you just comparing me to who I used to be?"

"'Course not." She replied in an unbelieving tone.

"Because I'm different. I'm very different, Clara, and I thought you knew that. But just because I'm different doesn't mean I don't care about you..." He raised his voice in a slightly angered demeanor.

"Sorry." Clara flinched, a bit confused, eyes drifting closed again.

The Doctor opened his mouth to say something else, but decided against it. Instead, he stood up, ready to make way to leave the room. But before he did, he placed his hand ever so briefly on Clara's shoulder. The small act of intimacy caused her to shudder with surprise, but she relaxed as she felt him rubbing his thumb over her shoulder in the tiniest act of comfort.

Clara smiled to herself, listening to his heavy footsteps as he walked out of the room at last. She had no trouble drifting into sleep after that.

* * *

><p>"Doctor, I'm fine."<p>

"We can't know that for sure. I still don't know that you didn't pick up some alien bug whilst we were about."

"I told you it was just a cold!"

A few days later, Clara was feeling back to her old self. She'd been feeling much better for a while now, but each time she'd informed the Doctor, he'd sent her off to bed again, insisting she needed more rest. But now, feeling a hundred-and-ten percent better, she was having no more of it.

"I'm fine." She repeated, crossing her arms and her voice hardening.

"Just come to the infirmary so I can run more tests and know _for sure._" The Doctor said gruffly, grabbing her arm and beginning to pull her in that direction.

"Doctor!" She jerked away, pausing her steps and waiting for him to turn to face her. "Look at me. Just look at me. Do I still look ill to you?"

"Yes. Your eyes are all funny and your voice sounds weird and you're as pale as milk."

Clara frowned. "Am not."

"Oh. Sorry. Just your face then, I suppose." He rolled his eyes. "Just come to the infirmary."

"Doctor, your concern in touching." She said with a small smile, no sarcasm in her tone this time. "But look at me. I'm no longer coughing up a lung, headache's gone, and," She grabbed his hand, raising it up until the back of it rested on her cheek. When she let go, his hand remained in place. "Fever's gone. See?"

"Fine." He dropped his hand as soon as he realised what he was doing, but allowed it to graze over Clara's shoulder before lowering it back to his side. "Whatever."

"Thank you, by the way."

"For what?"

She shrugged. "Caring." And with that, she tackle-hugged him, causing him to trip back a few steps.

"No, not the hugging again. I _don't _do the hugging!" He argued, but she refused to let go. To the Doctor's own surprise, he relaxed a little. He didn't hug back, he wasn't quite ready for that, but in that moment, in the position where Clara couldn't see his face,

He smiled.

**A/N: Hey...hey... *whispers* see that little box below? Use it to send me a review ;)**


End file.
